As I mentioned in my previous post, I dropped my basket on a Saturday. Not only did I drop it, I slammed it down, hard. I called my brother in Austin and was talking to him about nothingness and I heard dogs barking. I thought they were in our backyard here in New Orleans and I asked him if he was here. He said, “No, I’m in Austin.” That’s when he asked to speak to my husband and it was decided that I should be taken to the emergency room.
I stayed on the phone with my brother the whole drive to the hospital. As soon as we arrived in the parking lot, I told my brother I had to go, dropped the phone, grabbed my wallet and made a bee-line to the emergency room. I was really scared about what was going to happen to me, but I treated it like ripping off a band aid. Rip it off quickly – that’s the best approach.
When I arrived inside, I walked up to the clerk’s window, handed her my wallet and said, “I need help”. The helping gods were smiling down on me at that moment because she immediately recognized that I was not in my right mind. After taking my insurance, I was rushed back to have my vitals checked and into a room. I had to wait a while and my sister ended up coming to the hospital. We joke that she busted in there like the Kool Aid Man and wasn’t going to take anything from anyone. My husband was busy with the doctors, so she stayed in the private room with me and tried to help calm me down.
I kept talking about the New World Order and how 9/11 was an inside job – all those strange conspiracy theory documentaries I had been watching had seriously warped my sense of reality. She soothed me but did not agree with the jibber-jabber I was spewing. At one point, I tried to run. I was so anxious and paranoid that I thought the hospital staff was going to perform science experiments on me and I would get in trouble. When I ran, a very nice security guard came after me. She said, “It’s okay, baby. They are going to take good care of you.” I started to cry.
You see, what had happened was, I had taken Tylenol PM in an effort to sleep. I was so very out of my mind that I have no idea how many doses I had taken prior to ending up in the emergency room. They did blood tests – my Tylenol levels were through the roof and could have seriously damaged my liver. Because I had taken so much Tylenol, the doctors thought I had tried to kill myself. I was to receive medicine intravenously to counter act the damage I had done. But first, they had to calm me down and put in the I.V. That was an ordeal and I fought them hard for access to my veins. The phlebotomist who inserted my line was awesome and patient. That’s when I passed out and didn’t wake up until I was in an actual hospital room.
BOOM! Mandatory 72 hour hold in the hospital with an attending nurse monitoring me 24/7. I hadn’t tried to kill myself, merely sleep, but from the outside it looked that way. People can lie. I wasn’t lying, but I also wasn’t the best person to trust at that moment. I had to give up control and was having a hard time doing so.
My mom showed up. From Texas. I woke up one of the mornings and my husband said, “You have a visitor”. My mom walked in and for a moment I smiled. Then I got mad. I was so angry she was there. I was mad at her, mad at my husband, confused, drugged, and still not sleeping or eating.
When I was finally released from the regular hospital, I felt relieved. Then I was informed that I was being checked into a mental hospital.
My husband had committed me….
You can read part two here.